Rest your weary limbs a while
by Kaizoku-Taii
Summary: Holmes is finally able to rest, as he and his friends leave behind Moriarty's factory. He just neeps a little rest... tag to the scene in the film, spoilers! Gen, oneshot.


Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud...

Holmes listened to the sound of the train on the track, feeling each small tremor run up into his body through the cold, hard wood of the compartment floor. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling his heart beat with the train's rocks, felt the heady, disorienting feeling of adrenaline in his veins.

The train rocked, Holmes' body jolting with it – his breath caught as his shoulder shifted under the makeshift bandage, nerve endings screaming out in pain and he was there again in the dark room the grey light and the dirty windows and the pain and pain and _pain _and swinging and ripping biting his tongue to quiet his screaming and God, the pain and soft hands on his face and insistent muttering and _thud,_ and thud…

Thud thud, thud thud

He swallowed, as if he could force the whimpers back into his chest, even though he knew that they had sounded, that everyone in that cramped train could see him stripped of his dignity and laid bare in front of them, the great Holmes brought to this by a single man. He opened his eyes, ashamed, meeting the sharp gaze of his oldest, oldest friend with his own distant, glazed one. And in a moment, he knew that a judgement was the farthest thing on Watson's mind, that he was kind enough even now to see Holmes in the highest regard. It is something that Holmes, in the past would have encouraged; and yet now he felt nothing but weak. Nevertheless, he nodded, telling Watson without words that he would be okay, that the worse pain was over. Watson seemed, somewhat, to relax, as if even now he trusted Holmes' word – Holmes didn't miss the worry in the doctor's eyes, but so it would be, nothing Holmes could do would put his friend at ease. The best he could hope was that, for now, Watson would allow him a rest.

The rest that was really beginning to feel like a good idea.

Holmes looked upwards, flashing a thankful smile at Sim, on whose lap he lay. He felt safe, the rush of the chase through the forest slipping out of him, the energy leaving his limbs slowly, their leaden pressure beginning to weigh down on his chest. The cabin rocked again – another burst of pain forced a huff of breath out of his lungs, but it wasn't the sharp pain of before; instead, the raging, burning ache seemed almost distant. Still, Sim's subtle increase of pressure on his face was a kindness that anchored him. He kept his eyes on Watson, watching him sew up his side with the same nimble fingers as he always has had – Holmes noted that they barely shake, that Watson seemed mostly uninjured. He was thankful, and when Watson glanced up at him Holmes smiled minutely. He was so tired he feared that his lips barely moved, but, as he began to float so warmly on the padded loss of adrenaline he knew his eyes softened, at least, under the Doctor's gaze, knew that Watson understood that Holmes was smiling at him. He vaguely realised that, above him, a gentle tune had started up, Sim softly weaving a song for them all. He listened and remembered another's embrace.

He remembers his dark muse, he hands much less calloused and yet just as well used as the kind gypsy cradling his head now. He remembers her warm chest and the slow, sweet song from those lips he so adored. It had been a song from the opera she had seen earlier that day, something Holmes had easily deduced as he enjoyed the tune, for once silent and appreciative. It had been a moment so unlike them, and yet one he had sworn he would never forget.

He does not recognise Sim's song. He simply floats on its soft tune, somehow light as the very air he felt coming to his chest in shallower, shallower breaths while also so leaden as he felt as though his limbs would break the rotten wood on which he lay.

He watched Watson work, did not move his eyes, and knew that they still held that softer look. He was happy to relax now, happy to fall asleep. He felt as though he was sinking now, a warm darkness encroaching. He kept his eyes on Watson as he finally succumbed to sleep.

Yes. Now would be a good time to rest.


End file.
